


Haply, I Think

by Robottko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blind Date, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9526448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: Haplyadverb  hap·ly \ˈha-plē\by chance, luck, or accidentPerhaps Sherlock should have told John that he wasn't his blind date, but if John hadn't called him brilliant, they never would have gotten in to this mess.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes  
> I all alone beweep my outcast state,  
> And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,  
> And look upon myself, and curse my fate,  
> Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
> Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,  
> Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,  
> With what I most enjoy contented least;  
> Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,  
>  **Haply I think** on thee, and then my state,  
>  Like to the lark at break of day arising  
> From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;  
> For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings  
> That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
> 
> William Shakespeare, Sonnet #29.
> 
> Loosely based on _Man Up (2015)_

The soft squeak of Molly's trainers were the only sound that filled the morgue. Normally she would fill the silence with inane chatter, but a poorly timed comment about the sexuality of her previous partners had left her acting particularly frosty towards Sherlock. 

"Molly-" Sherlock tried, getting cut off immediately. 

"Timing, Sherlock," She snipped, not looking up from the man she was busy dissecting. 

"I was just trying to point out-"

"That I would have much more success in relationships if I didn't constantly try to date gay men," She finished, looked harried. "Yes, you've pointed that out numerous times before."

"Yes, well, you looked down trodden that your relationship with Tim-"

"Tom."

"Yes, Tom," Sherlock sighed, trying to be patient. "You looked sad that it ended. I _had_ pointed out that he was gay, and had you listened to me, you wouldn't be quite so upset."

"Sherlock," Molly warned, finally looking away from the cadaver to glare at Sherlock. "Timing!"

 Sherlock's mouth snapped shut, trying to look properly contrite as he turned back to the thumbs she had given him. 

"Anyway," She continued after a moment. "It might have all turned out well for him. I've found him a blind date. Or...well, Mike Stamford has."

"A blind date?" Sherlock scoffed. "The likelihood of a successful match so soon after the dissolution of a relationship, especially when the match was chosen by the other party of the failed partnership, seems pretty-"

A soft cough from the doorway interrupted him, and Sherlock turns to glare at the newcomer. The man was well dressed, his shoes gleaming as he shuffled nervously from foot to foot. A long, grey coat nearly covered his pressed black trousers and button up. Sherlock has just enough time to register the shock of curly brown hair before the stranger is swept into a hug by Molly.

"Tom!" She cried, "Oh, you look marvellous."

"Thank you, Molly," Tom replied softly, glancing over at Sherlock. "This isn't...err..."

"Oh, no!" Molly laughed. "No, this isn't your date. This is Sherlock!"

The apprehensive look fell from Tom's face, and he grinned brightly at Sherlock, who scowled back. "Oh, thank goodness. No offense, Mr Holmes, but Molly's told me all about you."

"All good things, apparently," Sherlock sniffed, trying not to look offended. 

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that," Tom said cheerfully. "I just meant...well, it would be pretty rotten for your blind date to hate the idea of blind dates, wouldn't it?"

"Or know everything about you on sight," Molly added unhelpfully. 

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said, "That doesn't change the fact that a blind date set up by a previous girlfriend is statistically likely to end poorly."

"And where do you get your statistics from, Mr Holmes?" Tom asked, grinning when Sherlock was unable to answer. "Look, Molly knows me. She knows what I like. I trust her."

"I've been trying to set Sherlock up for ages," Molly told him. 

"Romantic entanglements-"

"Would complete you as a person," Molly finished for him.

"That is highly offensive towards aromantic people," Sherlock sniffed.

"And you're not aromantic, no matter what you want people to believe," She quipped. 

"Look, let's bet on it," Tom chimed in, "If the date between me and...err..."

"Doctor John Watson," Molly supplied.

"Right, John Watson," Tom repeated. "If the date between John and I goes well, then you have to agree to a blind date set up by Molly."

"John and me," Sherlock muttered distractedly. 

"What?"

"You said 'John and I' when the correct structure of the sentence would be 'John and me'. Think of it as a replace and remove exercise where you remove the-"

"Sherlock," Molly interrupted.   

"Oh, fine." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you and John have a grand old time, I'll agree to an insipid dated. Happy?"

"Chuffed," Molly intoned. She turned back to Tom, "now Tom, I told Dr Watson that you would meet him outside St Bart's, and you would be wearing a long coat with a scarf."

"Oh, blast," Tom gestured to his neck. "I forgot the scarf!"

"That's alright," Molly waved him off. "You can borrow Sherlock's."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock blinked. 

"Please, Mr Holmes?" Tom asked, clasping his hands together in supplication. "I'll return it as soon as possible."

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Sherlock sighed, gesturing to the hook where his Belstaff and scarf hung. "Don't get it dirty."

"Thank you, Sherlock," Molly said, but Sherlock had already turned away, focussing once more on the bag of thumbs. "I've got to grab a few things from my office. Please don't touch the cadaver, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave a hum of acknowledgment, barely registering the soft _swoosh_ of the door as it closed. He became so engrossed in his task, that the sound of Tom's cough made him flinch.

"Sorry," Tom said, looking amused when Sherlock glanced up at him.

"Do you really believe that this _John Watson_ will be the love of your life?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I don't have any idea," Tom said with a shrug. "But I've always been too afraid to date another bloke, and it's worth a shot."

"Is it?"

"Bit of a cynic, are you?" Tom chuckled. "Love works in mysterious ways."

"Sometimes it ends in death," Sherlock replied shortly.

"Well, you'll see soon enough, won't you?" Tom said. "After my date, you'll have to go on one, too!"

"Overconfident," Sherlock remarked.

"Optimistic," Tom returned. "And with that, I must be off. Potential soulmates to meet, after all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, ignoring the man as he swept out of the morgue. Really, if the man even knew half of what Sherlock did, he wouldn't want to have anything to do with romance either.

"Love is a much more vicious motivator," He mumbled to himself, glancing over towards the door. That was when he saw it.

"Idiot," Sherlock sighed, his eyes falling upon his coat, the scarf still wrapped around the collar. "Did he not pay attention to anything Molly had said?"

He walked over to the hook, pulling the scarf free. If he took action now, he might be able to catch Tom before his blind date gave up looking for him. 

Without a second thought, he grabbed his Belstaff, wrapping it around himself to ward off any winter chill. He gave the pockets a quick pat, satisfied to feel his mobile in the right hand pocket. Then he grabbed the scarf and made his way out of the morgue.

The air outside was brick, quickly chilling the exposed air around Sherlock's neck. He tugged the scarf on with ease, keeping himself warm until he could find the sentimental idiot.

Sherlock strolled along the perimeter of the building, trying to figure out where Tom had headed. It was entirely possible he went to purchase a new scarf, or maybe he hadn't noticed the missing scarf at all and was waiting patiently for his date. 

"Tom?" A voice from behind grabbed Sherlock's attention. He turned around to find an attractive man standing behind him, a cane clenched tightly in his right hand.

 _Oh_ , was all Sherlock could think, blinking down at him.

"Right, hi." The man, John Watson he could presume, smiled wryly at him. "Blind dates...bit different in my day."

Perhaps Sherlock should have told him that he wasn't Tom, that he wasn't John's date. Perhaps he should have explained the situation, and taken John to find Tom. There were a thousand things he could have said, but what really came out of his mouths was-

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John blinked at him a few times, confusion flitting across his face. Sherlock wondered if John would vocal with his displeasure, or physical. Perhaps he would leave before Sherlock could explain that he wasn't his date, a thought that oddly satisfying. The idea of Tom and John going on a date was suddenly hateful, and Sherlock couldn't figure out why.

"Sorry, how did you-"

"I didn't know, I saw," Sherlock interrupted. Best get this over with as soon as possible. "You're a military man, judging by your haircut and posture, and you've got a tan, but it only goes to your wrists. So you've been overseas, but not sunbathing. It wasn't a difficult leap."

"You saw all that?" John asked, glancing down at himself.

"Oh, that was just the first impression," Sherlock said, strolling in a lazy circle around John. "You've been injured, but it wasn't your leg. You're standing just fine, as if you've forgotten about your injury. So it's psychosomatic. But the way you're holding your shoulders suggests there was an injury there. So, an army doctor invalided home."

"Wait...how did you know I was a doctor?"

"Your jumper," Sherlock replied. "You've repaired it a few times. The stitches aren't a simple whip-stitch; they're surgical in quality.  Of course, they could be from a previous partner, but you've only recently come back. Difficult to maintain a long distance relationship while in the military, and you've also indicated that it's been a while since your last date. Also, Molly Hooper mentioned you were a doctor."

"That's cheating," John sounded amused. "And when did I say it's been a while since my last date?"

"You said 'a bit different from my day'," Sherlock replied. "Now which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan," John confirmed. "That was...amazing."

Sherlock froze in his circuit, trying to decide if he had imagined John's words. "I'm...sorry?"

"Extraordinary," John said, and Sherlock turned his focus to John's face. Not lying. "Simply extraordinary."

"That's not what most people say," Sherlock said.

"What do most people say?"

"Piss off."

John snorted at that, holding out his hand for Sherlock to shake. "It's nice to meet you. I'm-"

"Doctor John Watson," Sherlock confirmed, shaking his hand.

"And you're Tom Anderson," John replied. "It's nice to meet you."

 _Oh_. The warm bubble that had inflated in Sherlock's chest at John's words popped suddenly. John was waiting for Tom, not Sherlock. Really, the intelligent thing to do right now would be to tell John the truth. Explain how he had been looking for Tom, to give him the scarf,

"The pleasure is all mine," was what came out instead. Sherlock took his hand, giving it a firm shake. 

"I'm going to be honest, I don't have anything planned," John said after a moment, pulling his hand out of Sherlock's. "I didn't think you'd show."

"That's alright," Sherlock said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "There's a nice Italian place on Northumberland Street. The owner owes me a favour."


	2. Chapter 2

Ch 2

"So, what exactly is it you do?" John asked, keeping pace easily with Sherlock. His cane moved in time with his steps, but John didn't put any weight onto it at all. 

"Do?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, for a job...hobbies, those sorts of things," John said. "I figure it's only fair I know, seeing as you know everything about me."

"I hardly know _everything_ , John," Sherlock replied.

"So, you can't read my favourite colour by my shoes?" John teased.

"Give me time," Sherlock replied, chuckling softly. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world; I created the job."

"Is that like a private detective?" John asked.

"Yes and no," Sherlock replied. "When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they come to me. Other than that, I take only cases that interest me."

"And what sorts of cases interest you?" John asked.

"Ones that aren't boring," Sherlock replied, making John laugh.

The warm light from the windows of _Angelo's_ washed over them as they approached the building. As they were about to enter, John's phone began to ring.

"Hold on," John said, grabbing out his mobile. "Oh, it's Mike. Sorry about this."

"It's no trouble," Sherlock waved a hand at him. "I'll go and find us a table."

Sherlock stepped inside the restaurant, the door had just barely shut when he was enveloped in a large hug. 

"Sherlock!" The gruff voice belonging to Angelo cried. "It's good to see you again."

"You as well, Angelo," Sherlock managed to gasped. "I was wondering if you could do me a favour..."

"Anything for my best customer," Angelo said.

"Could you address me as Tom?" Sherlock asked, stepping back to properly look at Angelo. "It's a...a social experiment to see how...err...how dates react to various names."

A terrible lie, and judging by the gleam in Angelo's eyes, it was obvious, but he gave a hearty chuckle and slapped Sherlock's shoulder.

"Anything for you...Tom," He said, steering Sherlock toward the corner table. John stepped in a moment later, his mobile pressed against his ear.

"Yeah, no, Tom is with me right now," John was telling Mike, his cane all but dangling in his hand. He sat down next to Sherlock, leaning it on the seat next to him. "Right, thank you again, Mike."

John hung up, grinning over at Sherlock. "He was checking up on me, making sure everything was going alright."

"And _is_ everything going alright?" Sherlock asked.

"Everything is perfect," John said with a grin. 

Sherlock's whole body went warm at that, and he tried to mentally will the flush from his cheeks. Judging by the look on John's face, he wasn't entirely successful.

"Welcome to Angelo's," Angelo interrupted, beaming. "It's on the house, anything off the menu!"

"Wait...really?" John asked in surprise.

"Of course." Angelo clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "This man, he got me out of a murder charge."

"I proved that while the murder was being committed, Angelo was all the way across town burglarizing a house," Sherlock explained when he saw John's shocked look.

"I would have gone to jail if it hadn't been for Sh- for Tom," Angelo said proudly.

"You did go to jail," Sherlock reminded him.

"He cleared my name!"

"I cleared it a bit," Sherlock said.

"I'll get you two a candle. For you and your date." Angelo winked before departing.

"Is there anything you can't do?" John asked in amusement. 

"It was a simple case," Sherlock said modestly. "It only took me an hour to solve."

"What are your hobbies?" John asked, "Saving the world on the weekend?"

Sherlock couldn't stop the lazy grin that spread across his face. Usually he had better control of his transport, but John's very existence seemed to be doing odd things to it.

"I play the violin," Sherlock offered with a shrug. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Potential boyfriends should know the worst about each other."

Oh.

Oh no.

"Who said anything about boyfriends?" John asked him, a teasing grin on his face. But Sherlock wasn't sure if it was the good sort of teasing or not.

"I...well, that is to say, what I meant was-" Sherlock stuttered rather inelegantly, jumping when his phone in his pocket rang. He fished it out, wincing slightly when he saw Molly's name. "I should take this. Sorry."

"No, it's fine," John said. "Take it."

"Thank you," Sherlock said, sliding out from the booth. "I won't be gone long."

He swiped at the answer button, striding towards the back of the restaurant, making sure he was well out of earshot before answering. "Molly."

"Sherlock, where on earth did you go?" Molly said as Sherlock exited through the service door. He regretted it instantly, the cold of the back alley seeping through his suit. "You left the toes out!"

"Apparently your previous boyfriend couldn't be bothered to remember my scarf, so I had to chase after him," Sherlock replied with a sniff.

"He went and purchased a new one," Molly said. "When he realized he had forgotten, he stopped by a local shop. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Dr Watson never showed up."

"Oh?" Sherlock tried to feign innocence. "That's a shame. Tom said he was looking forward to it."

"Okay, what do you know?" Molly asked, resignation in her voice.

"I have no idea what you're-"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said. "We have been friends for nearly five years. I know you better than that. You only put on that innocent air when you're hiding something. And you forgot to pretend you didn't know Tom's name."

"That sentence didn't make any sense," Sherlock said.

"Of course it did," Molly sighed. "You pretend to forget someone's first name when they annoy you. But you always remember, I know you do."

"Oh, fine. Yes, I did remember his name," Sherlock huffed. "There, my big secret revealed. I'll put the toes away later."

"Oh, don't you try to deflect on me," Molly said. "What is it that you know about Tom's date?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said defensively.

"Sherlock..."

"Nothing!"

" _Sherlock!_ "

"Dr Watson _did_ show up," Sherlock spat out. "I went looking for Tom, and I put my scarf on to ward away the cold. J-Watson saw me and assumed I was Tom."

"Oh Sherlock, you didn't talk him out of the date, did you?" Molly asked.

"No, nothing of the sort," Sherlock said. "In fact, he's here with me right now."

"With...you?" Molly said. "But...did you tell him you weren't Tom?"

"Ah...I haven't gotten to that yet..."

"Sherlock!"

"He called me amazing, Molly," Sherlock said. "I told him his life story, and he called me amazing."

"Wait...really?" Molly said, surprise evident in her voice. 

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "I got...I was flustered, and he didn't seem to find me all that odd looking, so I..."

"Pretended you were Tom," Molly finished.

"Yes." Sherlock ducked his head.

"You need to tell him, Sherlock," Molly said sternly. 

"I know, I will," Sherlock said.

"Like, right away," Molly continued. "You don't want him finding out from anyone else."

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock replied. "I know."

"And Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really happy for you." The smile was evident in her voice.

"Nothing to be happy about, Molly," Sherlock reminded her. "John thinks he's on a date with Tom...not me."

"All he knows about Tom is his name," Molly said. "The rest is all you, Sherlock."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, a rush of fondness for Molly Hooper rushing over him. Though he rarely found her to be tolerable for long stretches of time, Molly had proven to be an excellent friend.

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said. "I should go now."

"Yes you should," Molly said. "Oh, and Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

Sherlock gave a soft laugh, hanging up with a tap of his thumb. Pocketing his mobile, he turned to enter the service door once more, annoyed to discover it had locked behind him. He strolled around the side of the building, debating on the proper course of action. 

The light from the window of Angelo's spilled out into the early evening, giving Sherlock a perfect view of John. To the untrained eye he appeared casual, but Sherlock could see a stiffness in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. He peered past John, trying to figure out who was causing such irritation in his companion.

Across from John sat the last person Sherlock expected- or wanted- to see. His heart fell into his stomach, and he could practically _see_ any esteem he had gained with John falling into the rubbish bin. The man looked past John, a smirk creeping onto his face when he caught sight of Sherlock on the other side of the window. 

Sherlock glared, sweeping into Angelo's dramatically. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?"


	3. Chapter 3

_"What are you doing here, Mycroft?"_

 

"I do believe this restaurant is open to the general public," Mycroft said, gesturing around vaguely. "And though I loathe to admit it, the general public does in fact include myself."

"Tom?" John said, but both Sherlock and Mycroft ignored him.

"You know what I mean," Sherlock bit out. "I assume you've come to try and get John to spy on me too, yeah?"

"Not that it would do any good," Mycroft sniffed. "He apparently doesn't know your real name."

"Tom." John said again, and Sherlock glanced over at him. All the warmth was gone from John's gaze, only hard steel remaining. "What's going on?"

"Mycroft, leave." Sherlock said, turning once more to glare at his brother.

"Very well," Mycroft said, standing from his seat. "If you change your mind, Dr Watson, the offer is always on the table."

"I won't." John promised. 

Mycroft graced them both with one last smirk before leaving the restaurant, his umbrella tapping imperiously as he went.

"Tom?" John said for the third time.

"My...name isn't Tom," Sherlock admitted. "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

"Jesus, so he was right?" John said, waving a hand in the direction of the door.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "Tom Anderson was supposed to borrow my scarf, and when he forgot, I went after him."

"You put it on because of the cold..." John said slowly, as if coming to a realization. 

"And you assumed I was Tom. Understandable. You were told he would be tall, with a long coat and a scarf."

"With high cheekbones and curly dark hair," John added, looking slightly miserable. "That's what Mike told me at least."

"I suppose I do look a bit like him," Sherlock mused. "Molly has a type. Tall, dark hair, and high cheekbones. There's a Detective Inspector I think I need to introduce her to..."

"Why did you tell me you were Tom?" John burst out, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"I...I didn't actually tell you I was Tom..." Sherlock said rather meekly.

"But you let me go on thinking you were him," John snapped. "Was it just a game to you?"

"What?" Sherlock shook his head. "No!"

"Was anything you said true?"

"Of course it was!" Sherlock said. "Why would I lie about that?"

John gave him another hard look before scooting out of the booth. He strode towards the door, not paying any attention to Sherlock who had rushed to scurry after him.

"Poor choice of words," Sherlock said quickly, dimly registering the glint of John's forgotten cane as they exited. "What I'm trying to convey to you is that I wouldn't lie to you about who I am...that is, what I do..."

"To-Sherlock," John interrupted. "I get it, you felt bad for the broken down soldier, but I promised someone I would go on a date with him, and this reflects badly on me!"

"First of all, you're hardly broken down," Sherlock said. "And secondly, all you'll have to tell him is that it's my fault. He'll believe you. He's met me."

"I've got a cane," John replied. "I got kicked out of the army because of my limp. I think that constitutes as broken."

"No you don't," Sherlock replied, "but even if you did, to define yourself as broken is ridiculous. Brokenness is merely a mental state, not an actual-"

"What do you mean?" John interrupted.

"I was just saying that it's a mental-"

"No, not that," John said crossly. "The...whatever you said about my limp and cane. You said I don't? Don't what?"

"Well, you haven't limped much since we met about an hour ago. You were leaning heavily on your cane when we introduced each other, but you barely used your cane to walk to Angelo's." Sherlock replied. "And you left it in the restaurant when you stormed out of there."

"I..." John's right hand made an aborted motion, as if to grab the cane he no longer had. "What..."

"I did say it was psychosomatic," Sherlock reminded him softly. "Apparently you needed enough a distraction to forget."

John blinks at Sherlock a few times in surprise before bursting out into laughter. "Oh, you absolute madman."

It sounded affectionate, and Sherlock could feel his heart swell once more in his chest. "Yes, well, I hadn't exactly _planned_ this..."

"Oh, but you were planning to cure me of my limp? A limp, mind you, that no physical therapist could figure out?" John asked, a large grin still left over from his laughing.

"Of course," Sherlock shrugged. "You were self-conscious and wanted it gone."

"Utterly mad," John said, "and utterly brilliant."

"I...we should get you back to St Bart's." Flustered once more, Sherlock turned and flagged down a cab. "Maybe we can still catch Tom."

"Tom." John nodded once, an odd expression flicking across his face. Before Sherlock could comprehend, John's face became studiously blank.

The car had barely come to a halt before Sherlock and John were piling in, leaving a respectable distance between them. They had only known each other for an hour; they hadn't even gotten to eat dinner. So why did Sherlock feel so melancholy about losing John?

"Why didn't we take a cab there?" John asked after a few minutes of silence. He was watching London pass by through the window.

"You distracted me," Sherlock answered honestly. 

John turned to look at Sherlock, a soft smile on his face. "Listen, I did have fun."

"Even though I'm not Tom?"

"Even though you're not Tom," John repeated. "And...Well, I did promise to date him, but if it doesn't work out-"

Sherlock's mobile began to ring, halting John's hesitant speech. He sighed, shoulders slumping as if in defeat.

"You should get that," John said, before muttering: "bloody phones."

Sherlock cursed his luck, pulling his mobile out of his pocket. He sighed once at the sight of Lestrade's name, answering with a succinct "Holmes."

"I went down to Bart's to look for you," Lestrade said by way of greeting. "We need your help."

"I was busy," Sherlock replied, glancing briefly at John. "And I still am. It will have to wait."

"It can't wait, Sherlock," Lestrade sighed. "There's a man dead in the London Aquarium. We need you now."

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked.

"Anderson." The answer was hesitant.

"He won't work with me," Sherlock sighed. "I need an assistant."

Lestrade merely made a frustrated noise.

"Fine, I'll come."

"Ta," Lestrade said, "See you soon."

Sherlock replaced his mobile back into his pocket, glancing once over at John. "Case."

 "Of course," John said, nodding once. "I'll just..."

"Of course," Sherlock repeated, the oddest feeling in the pit of his stomach. Usually cases sent a thrill of adrenaline rushing through his system, but now Sherlock couldn't be less interested. 

John opened the door, and was halfway out when a brilliant thought struck Sherlock. His spirits lifted again, and he turned towards the open door.

"You were an army doctor," He said without preamble. The words caused John to freeze in place, and he turned to look at Sherlock.

"Yes."

"So you've seen lots of injuries, then?" Sherlock asked, "Violent deaths?"

"Yes," John answered seriously. "Far too many. Enough for a lifetime."

"Would you like to see some more?" Sherlock couldn't keep the corner of his lips from curling in amusement.

"Oh god, yes."


	4. Chapter 4

Night had fallen on 221B Baker Street, and the peace that had settled in the building was suddenly interrupted by two men. They stumbled inside, giggling like a pair of schoolboys.

"I can't believe you tried to arrest a jellyfish," John laughed, leaning against the wall.

"The Aquarium Curator absolutely _insisted_ that I arrest the perpetrator," Sherlock replied, trying to wipe the grin off his face and failing miserably "How could I refuse?"

"You tried to jump into the tank," John said, looking up at Sherlock. "You would have if I hadn't stopped you."

"Of course not," Sherlock said.

"You would."

"Maybe." He admitted finally.

"Absolute madman." The words were painfully fond, and Sherlock glanced down to see a matching look on John's face. Heart caught in his throat, Sherlock glanced away, knowing that his expression matched John's. 

Sherlock had never felt like this before, this unknown terror and pure elation mixed together in a heady rush. He had only known John for a few hours, but he knew that he couldn't live without him.

"John," Sherlock started softly, but he was interrupted almost immediately by a buzz from John's phone.

"Sorry, just have to make sure it's not work," John said, fishing out his mobile. The glow illuminated his face as he opened up the text, accentuating the widening of his eyes.

"It's Tom," John said slowly, looking surprised. "He says he still wants to go on a date."

"Ah," Sherlock replied intelligently, his stomach sinking. "And do you want to?"

"I don't know," John said. "I mean...Mike said we'd be the perfect match. He was practically a legend in Uni for matching people up."

"He's not unintelligent," Sherlock said, his face a perfect mask of indifference. "Friendly, agreeable, didn't absolutely loathe me on sight."

"You're too hard on yourself," John said. "You're charming, funny, brilliant-"

"See, you'd be the perfect match!" Sherlock couldn't listen to John's compliments any more. "Go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Sherlock said. "I don't _do_ relationships, John."

"You could." John said, peeling himself from the wall. "I should head out, then. He wants to meet at some fancy restaurant by the Thames."

"Have fun," Sherlock said. 

John looked as if he were going to say something else, but decided against it. He gave a small wave instead, a sad smile on his face.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I had...I had a really good time."

Sherlock watched as John left, the door closing softly behind him. He watched the door, counting the seconds, minutes, and moments since John had left. He watched the door until he knew John was gone, and then he left, a quick shout to Mrs Hudson that he was leaving as the only proof he had been there at all.

Sherlock made his way to Bart's, knowing that Molly would still be in the lab. She often stayed late to finish up her work, and she rarely had social engagements. 

If you asked Sherlock later, he would be unable to tell you how he got to Bart's. He was so focussed on keeping himself together that he didn't remember the journey at all, only that he was somehow in front of Bart's, his wallet lighter and feet colder.

Molly was exactly where he had expected her to be, her brown hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She glanced up when she saw him, the pleased smile falling off her face when she caught a glimpse of him.

"Oh my god, Sherlock. Is everything alright?" She asked, rushing over to him.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said, decidedly _not_ fine. 

"What happened?" Molly asked, not believing him for even a second. 

"He chose Tom," Sherlock said, collapsing in a chair. "He chose Tom."

 

* * *

 

 

John's fingers tapped as Tom spoke, the sound muffled by the table cloth. The minutes seemed to drag on as John listened, waiting for an impossibility

Tom was great, really. He was handsome, funny, and moderately clever. He was everything John should want in a potential boyfriend.

But he wasn't Sherlock.

"John, are you alright?" Tom asked, dragging him from his thoughts.

"Oh, sorry. Yes!" John ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, it's just been an...interesting day."

Tom laughed softly, "Yeah, Molly says that you never forget the first time you meet Sherlock Holmes."

"I can imagine _I_ won't," John agreed with a small laugh. "He's a bit of an enigma, isn't he?"

"Oh yes," Tom said. "People can't help but be drawn to him."

"Yeah," John replied.

"I knew it!" Tom cried, looking pleased. "You're drawn to him...you _like_ him!"

"I...what?!" John spluttered.

"You do!" Tom clapped his hands together. "Oh, this is marvellous!"

"It is?" John was confused now.

"Of course!" Tom replied. "I bet Sherlock that if my date went well, he would have to go on one. A date, that is."

"But it _isn't_ going well," John said.

"I never specified what 'going well' meant." Tom said. "I personally think this is going splendidly."

"Oh?"

"Yes!" Tom said emphatically. "Molly talks about Sherlock quite a bit. He's always been so alone. She's tried to set him up before, but to no avail."

"No one is good enough for him?" John asked.

"That's what I thought too," Tom replied. "But Molly thinks he's got self-esteem issues, too."

"He seemed pretty surprised when I complimented him," John mused. 

"What are you still doing here?" Tom asked.

"What?" John blinked up at him.

"You like him, he likes you," Tom reasoned. "Why on earth are you still here?"

"You don't mind?" John asked, already half out of his chair.

"Of course not!" Tom said, grinning. "It's not too often that you get to beat Sherlock Holmes!"

"How long have you known him for?" John asked.

"Oh, I just met him this morning," Tom said.

"This morning??" 

"Molly talks about him a _lot_ ," Tom explained. "Now _go_!"

John leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Tom's cheek. "Thank you for everything."

He dashed out of the restaurant, hailing a cab before making his way to Baker Street.

John realised as he arrived, however, that he had no idea which flat was Sherlock's. They had only made it as far as the entry before John had left. 

He walked to the first door he saw, knocking softly. A few moments later the door opened, an older lady peering out at him in confusion.

"Hi, I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes?" John said.

"Oh, what's he done this time?" The lady asked, sounding exasperated. 

"Nothing, I was just wondering which flat is his," John said.

"No," The lady said, looking stern. "Whatever it is, I won't have you popping in on him unannounced. It's not polite, and even though he's-"

"We went on a date," John interrupted, "And I've made a mess of it. I was hoping to ask him on another one."

The lady's entire demeanour changed, and she beamed happily up at him. "I'm Mrs Hudson, the landlady. Oh, I've been telling that boy for years that he needs someone to take care of him, and here you are!"

"Well, I have to actually convince him that I'm worth it," John said wryly. 

"Well, we had better get going then!" Mrs Hudson said, looking excited. "We don't have any time to lose."

"Going?" John frowned, glancing at the staircase.

"Oh, he's not home," Mrs Hudson said. "He left a while ago."

"He left?" John sounded defeated. 

"Oh, don't look so upset," Mrs Hudson patted his cheek, looking absolutely thrilled now. "I know exactly where he's gone off to."

"You do?"

"Of course," Mrs Hudson said, "come with me, we'll take my car!"

* * *

 

"Sherlock, are you alright?" Molly's soft voice broke through Sherlock's concentration. He had been staring at the severed thumbs for ten minutes, trying to concentrate, and failing miserably.

"Of course I'm fine," Sherlock tried to snap, annoyed with himself when it came out so weakly. 

"Sherlock..."

"Molly, please," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes locked on the thumbs in front of him. The door to the morgue swished softly, and he grit his teeth at the thought of some nameless technician seeing him like this. "Not now."

"Sherlock?" Molly sounded amused now.

"What?" Sherlock clutched at the table. "You find this funny?"

"Not in the slightest," Molly said, the smile irritatingly evident. "Then why must you torment me?" He asked.

"Sherlock."

"Is it not enough to know that you were right?" Sherlock asked, "That I would enjoy dating?"

"Sherlock."

"I have had enough for the day, Molly," Sherlock said, sounding weary. "I came to you because I thought you would understand how I felt, this...unrequited feeling."

"Sherlock."

"Perhaps it was cruel coming to you, as I was the object of your unrequited affection long ago, but I thought you could help me work through this."

"Sherlock?" A different voice said, sending a shock through Sherlock's system. He whirled around to see John standing there, a small smile on his face. 

"John?" Sherlock asked dumbly. "I thought you were with Tom?"

"I was," John said, walking towards him slowly. "And do you know what I figured out while I was on a date with him?"

"What?" Sherlock breathed, watching John advance.

"That I was already head-over-heels in love with you," John said, smiling ruefully. "Which sounds frankly ridiculous, seeing as I've known you less than twenty four hours. But you're a man of many talents, it seems."

Sherlock's brain was short-circuiting, both from John's proximity, and from his words.

"You...that is to say...you..." Sherlock stuttered.

"Love you?" John said, grinning up at him. His posture seemed relaxed, but Sherlock could read the fear in John's eyes. "Yeah, I really do."

"Oh." Sherlock's insides felt warm, and he blinked down at John. "Excellent. Yes. Good. Me too, of course."

"You too?" John asked, his smile growing more confident. "Really?"

"I came all the way to Bart's to complain to Molly," Sherlock snorted. "Of course I love you." 

"Oh good," John beamed up at him. "Because I'd very much like to take you on a proper date."

"Oh, yes," Sherlock nodded. "I would like that very much."

"Oh, for God's sake. Kiss you two!" Molly said, laughing to herself. Sherlock sent her a half-hearted glare, which she returned in kind.

"Well, I'd like to kiss you, if it's all the same," John said. "If you'll allow me, that is."

"Oh god, yes," Sherlock said, swooping down and pressing his lips to John's.

 

_For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings_

    _That then I scorn to change my state with kings_


End file.
